


a pretty boy like you

by fairysylveon



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Incest, M/M, Past Abuse, but also obviously current abuse, this is just really bad proceed with caution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-22
Updated: 2017-04-22
Packaged: 2018-10-22 17:59:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10702191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairysylveon/pseuds/fairysylveon
Summary: Nathan feels a hand on his head, and he shouts, sits up andshovesat whoever was there. He hears a grunt, and the sound of the intruder hitting against his dresser, and he goes to get off the bed on the opposite side, but the person is too fast. They grab his arm and pull him back down, then shove him onto the bed and slap their hand over his mouth.He tries to scream but his voice is muffled, and the grip is too tight for him to get away, and then…All of a sudden, he hears this quiet, soothing voice.





	a pretty boy like you

**Author's Note:**

> this is the result of a combination between finishing catcher in the rye, and being in a really sour mood.  
> aside from the warnings in the tags, there's also nathan being unreliable and questioning himself and trusting jefferson too much so if a narrative that sounds like it's "pardoning" the abuse will squick you, I'd advise against reading.
> 
> this is set BEFORE dark room stuff btw and very early on in their """relationship""" but definitely far enough in that nathan trusts him fully.
> 
> anyway I don't think I'll have a problem with this but just in case, I ask that you don't comment that this is "hot" or anything, because this is not like my other fics. frankly I don't give a damn if fictional noncon is your kink but. please just keep it out of the comments on this one, please?  
> that said, pointers and stuff are nice, I really have never written anything like this before

Nathan is sitting on the couch, and it's the first time he remembers being in the same room with his mother  _ and _ father at the same time in probably months. 

 

And it's not even for him. It's because Mark Jefferson is there, and they're pretending they're interested in talking to him. Please. They're so fucking fake, pretending they give a damn about photography when they'd told Nathan he was wasting his time pursuing it.

 

Jefferson doesn't seem nearly as bothered as Nathan is. Perhaps he can't tell they’re bullshitting, but Nathan doubts that; he'd told him once before what they had said to him. He very distinctly remembers Jefferson's response.

 

_ Oh, Nathan. I'm so sorry your parents don't support you and your ambitions. I do though. How about this: I'll teach you everything I know. I believe in you, you’ve got a good eye. What do you say, you want to be my protégé? _

 

It's the only thing that gives him hope when he feels like shit. That Jefferson, a famous photographer,  _ believed  _ in him. It made him feel over the moon. Sure, maybe the response was sappy, but Nathan loved it nonetheless. 

 

Jefferson lifting his glass up to his mouth and taking a drink draws Nathan attention. They're talking about something, Nathan can't even make himself focus in on the conversation. He just absently watches Jefferson lift the glass back to his lips, and notices that Jefferson glances over at him. Smiles charmingly, and then his attention is back off of Nathan. 

 

Nathan feels ignored, and he hates it. He’s so used to being the center of Jefferson’s attention, he can barely stand when he’s not. It’s stupid and clingy, he knows, but he can’t help it. Jefferson’s attention makes him feel loved, makes him feel like somebody cares and supports him. What he  _ really _ can’t stand, though, is how shitty the people who  _ do _ have his attention are. Fucking assholes, pretending they give half a shit about the rule of thirds or anything else Jefferson is telling them about.

 

Nathan’s mind drifts after that, completely zoning out the whole thing. He can’t remember how long he spaced out, but the next thing he knows, there’s a hand on his shoulder, and he jumps. 

 

Jefferson pulls his hand back quickly, like touching Nathan had burned him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

 

Nathan relaxes, takes a deep breath. “S’okay. What?”

 

Jefferson smiles back at him, and his hand goes back to Nathan’s shoulder, squeezing. “I was telling your parents how much you’ve improved, I asked you if you had any of your photos up in your room you could show them.”

 

“Oh. I dunno, I can go look--”

 

“That’s quite alright, Nathan,” Sean says. It sounds so dismissive, and Nathan hates him for it. “We should be getting to bed anyway, it’s getting late.”

 

Jefferson glances at his watch and nods. “I’ve had quite a bit to drink tonight, would you be so kind as to lend me your couch for the night?”

 

“Certainly, Mark, sleep here if you like.”

 

“Thank you, Sean, you’re too kind.”

 

Nathan wants to fucking gag. Kind, his ass.

 

“Well. We’ll be off to bed, then. Goodnight, Mark. Nathan.”

 

Nathan’s mother wishes them a goodnight too, and Nathan mumbles the pleasantries back at them. They leave quickly, and Jefferson and Nathan are left alone on the couch.

 

Jefferson finishes off the last of the whiskey in his glass. “Well, _ I’d _ love to see any pictures you have in your room. Would you like to show me?”

 

“I guess so. But if I didn’t already show them to you, they’re all shit.”

 

“I’m sure that isn’t true, Nathan. Let’s go have a look, what do you say?”

 

Nathan agrees to show him, and leads him up to his room.

 

Jefferson is sitting down on Nathan’s bed while Nathan reaches under it. He pulls out a shoebox, then sits right next to Jefferson on the bed. 

 

He takes the lid off and pulls a small stack out, and hands it over to Jefferson. Jefferson stays quiet for a moment, looking through all the photos. Then his hand is on Nathan’s back, rubbing gently, right between Nathan’s shoulder blades. “These are great, Nathan. You really are improving. I’m so proud of you.”

 

“Really? Thanks I guess. I dunno, I think they’re shit.”

 

Jefferson’s hand dips just a little lower, to the middle of Nathan’s back, and Nathan isn’t thinking about it at all, other than how warm the touch was and how he wishes his own dad showed him attention like Jefferson does. “They aren’t shit. I promise, they’re very good.”

 

“Thanks…”

 

Jefferson’s hand goes up to run through Nathan’s hair, and then he gets up, handing the photos back to Nathan. “I think I’m going to go drink some more. Care to join me?”

 

Nathan shakes his head. “M’good. Think I’ll just go to bed.”

 

“Suit yourself then. Sleep tight, Nathan,” Jefferson says, and then he gets up and leaves, and Nathan watches him until he pulls the door closed with a quiet click.

  
  


\---------

  
  


Nathan feels a hand on his head, and he shouts, sits up and  _ shoves _ at whoever was there. He hears a grunt, and the sound of the intruder hitting against his dresser, and he goes to get off the bed on the opposite side, but the person is too fast. They grab his arm and pull him back down, then shove him onto the bed and slap their hand over his mouth.

 

He tries to scream but his voice is muffled, and the grip is too tight for him to get away, and then…

 

All of a sudden, he hears this quiet, soothing voice. 

 

“Shh. Hush, Nathan, it’s just me.”

 

Physically, Nathan relaxes. He swats at Jefferson’s hand, and Jefferson moves it. But his heart is still racing and he’s  _ scared _ , because what the  _ fuck _ ?

 

“The fuck are you  _ doing? _ ”

 

“I came up to watch you. You look so handsome when you sleep, you know what?”

 

“ _ What? _ The fuck do you  _ mean _ , ‘watch me’?”

 

“Shh, keep your voice down.” Jefferson’s hand is back on him, caressing his face gently. Nathan doesn’t really know what’s happening, all he knows is that this reminds him too much of when Sean would sneak into his room late at night.

 

That alone scares him.

 

“Get off, dude.” Nathan tries to sound casual, he really does, he’s trying so hard.

 

But Jefferson doesn’t move. He’s still leaning over Nathan, and he’s been this close before but it’s never felt this way.

 

“You really are something. Do you have any idea what those legs do to a man?”

 

“You haven’t even seen my--”

 

“I don’t have to. Those tight pants of yours don’t really leave much to the imagination, do they?”

 

Nathan doesn’t answer. He goes quiet, and tries not to let his breath sound too uneven, he doesn’t want Jefferson to know he’s scared, hopes Jefferson’ can’t hear or _ feel _ how fast his heart is beating. He doesn’t talk for at least a minute, and Jefferson doesn’t move away the whole time, just keeps gently stroking his cheek. Finally, he gets the courage to speak, has to work extra hard to keep his voice even. “What are you doing in here, Mr. Jefferson?” He can’t even bring himself to sound pissed. He’s  _ not  _ pissed; he’s shaking, starting to sweat, and he feels the strongest urge to run.

 

But he stays put.

 

“I told you, I came to watch you. I was going to take your picture; you look so peaceful and innocent when you sleep. But it’s too dark, and I didn’t want to wake you up with the flash.”

 

Nathan doesn’t have a response. He couldn’t think of one if he tried. 

 

Jefferson’s hand goes down to Nathan’s neck. Nathan nearly jumps again at the touch, but doesn’t move. 

 

“Your neck is such a pretty thing. Do you know that? You’re so soft. You look so  _ delicate _ , Nathan. I wonder what you’d look like marked up.” Jefferson puts his thumb right on Nathan’s throat and presses down  _ hard _ . Nathan makes a choked off noise, and Jefferson lets up. “I bet you’d look nice. All that pale skin marred by purple bruises. What do you think?”

 

Nathan doesn’t have anything to say to that. He feels like he might be sick, and his stomach feels like there are insects crawling around inside him, trying to dig their way out. “Why are you in here?” It’s all he can think of to say, because Jefferson hasn’t given him a real answer anyways, and because he’s afraid he already  _ knows _ the answer.

 

Jefferson huffs a laugh through his nose, but Nathan couldn’t find any humor there. “Please. Don’t pretend you weren’t eyeing me all night. Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”

 

Nathan shakes his head, almost frantic. “I wasn’t, I  _ wasn’t. _ ”

 

“ _ Yes _ . You  _ were _ . Don’t lie to me, Nathan, I hate that.” Jefferson runs his hand down over Nathan’s collar bone, and to his chest, and Nathan feels frozen. He squeezes his eyes shut, and he can’t help but feel that this is Sean all over again, even if Sean was never this gentle.

 

“I didn’t… I didn’t mean to, I didn’t know.”

 

“Don’t act innocent, Nathan. You’re far from it. And don’t think that I don’t know about how you’ll bend over and take it from everyone at Blackwell.”

 

“That’s  _ different _ , I--”

 

“ _ No _ . It isn’t. A cock is a cock, there’s no difference. Well… Other than the fact that I’m no doubt better than any of your little high school fuck buddies.”

 

Nathan is trying so hard not to tremble, but he’s failing. His whole body is shaking, and he has no doubt that Jefferson can feel it, the way he’s stroking his chest. Hell, he can probably feel Nathan’s heart trying to beat right out of his ribcage.

 

Jefferson’s hand slides lower, over his bare belly. “And, look at you. Sleeping half naked; you  _ knew _ I’d come back up here. Didn’t you? Or maybe you just hoped?”

 

“No,  _ no _ , I didn’t--”

 

Jefferson hushes him, and Nathan shuts up. He’s afraid of pushing, afraid of making Jefferson angry.

 

Jefferson’s hand slides even further, going to cup Nathan’s crotch, and that’s when Nathan can’t take it anymore. He yelps, squirms up and away from Jefferson’s hand, sitting up and pressing himself against the headboard. “ _ What are you doing _ ?” His voice comes out high pitched, panicked, and breathy, and he’s pushing his back so hard against the head of the bed, wishing he could phase right through it.

 

“Shut the fuck  _ up _ , Nathan, do you  _ want _ the whole house to hear? Don’t be difficult, come on.” Jefferson grabs Nathan’s ankles and starts to pull, and Nathan squirms and wiggles, trying his damndest to get away, kicking out uselessly. Jefferson gets Nathan’s head back down on the pillows, and crawls right back over him. “Be good. Understand?”

 

“I don’t wanna do this,” Nathan says, voice shaking. He's terrified and feeling like the world world is tilted all wrong; Jefferson was the one person he could trust, and now? Now he's got nothing.

 

Jefferson shushes him, almost gently, and runs his fingers through his hair. “Hush, it’s okay. It’s just us, you don’t have to pretend.” His hand goes back down to Nathan’s crotch and rubs through his boxers.

 

Nathan squeezes his eyes shut again. He doesn’t know what to say to make Jefferson believe him. And he hates his stupid fucking body, hates that it’s responding, that his dick is getting hard and he wishes he could will it to stop, but he can’t.

 

And, of course, Jefferson takes his boner as interest. “See there? I knew this is what you wanted.” He presses the palm of his hand harder against Nathan’s crotch, and Nathan has to use every bit of his willpower not to moan, because it feels good dammit, and he doesn’t want it to. He hates this, he hates it,  _ he hates it _ . And he hates that it feels good anyway. 

 

Jefferson’s hands go to tug at the waistband of Nathan’s boxers, and Nathan tries to push down hard on the bed, but he’s too small and weak, and Jefferson lifts him easily.

 

“Please don’t.” Nathan says it so flat. He knows it’s falling on deaf ears by now. He knows. He has experience here, and he knows pleas don’t work.

 

“Don’t be shy,” is how Jefferson chastises him. As if that were the issue, that he’s  _ shy _ , as if every damn boy at Blackwell with any kind of gay tendencies hadn’t seen him naked. Obviously, being  _ shy _ was the problem.

 

Nathan sighs. Gives up. Lets Jefferson lift his skinny hips and pull his boxers off of him.

 

Jefferson tosses them onto the floor, then takes Nathan’s dick in his hand. Nathan jerks, but doesn’t move otherwise. He knows he wouldn’t be able to get away, anyway.

 

Then Jefferson shifts and moves farther down the bed, puts his head between Nathan’s legs. Nathan has thought about this before, has jerked off to the thought, but now he hates it. It makes him sick, having Jefferson’s mouth so close to his dick.

 

He must be frowning or something, because Jefferson comments on it. “You should be grateful, you know. I don’t give head to just anyone.” And with that, he slides his mouth over the head, and Nathan hates how good and warm it feels.

 

Nathan can’t remember how long this goes on, because he was trying his best not to pay attention, but after what feels like forever, Jefferson’s mouth is pulling off of him. He hopes, maybe Jefferson is done with him. But he also knows that’s a stupid and naive thing to think. Nobody pushes past boundaries to make the other person feel good; that isn’t how this works. No, Jefferson wants something, and Nathan knows he’ll take it.

 

And he knows he was right, because Jefferson shoves his legs up and apart, and suddenly his mouth is on Nathan’s hole. Nathan tries to squirm away, but Jefferson puts a strong hand on his hip to keep him still, so Nathan deals with it.

 

But he can’t stand it. He can’t stand Jefferson’s tongue on him. It feels disgusting, invasive. It’s such an odd thing, how something he usually loves so much can feel so violating.

 

This goes on for quite some time. And Nathan knows what he’s doing. Loosening him up.

 

The thought makes him feel like throwing up that night’s dinner. But at least he isn’t shaking anymore.

 

After what feels like an eternity, Jefferson pulls his mouth away. Then stares for a moment, only able to see by the streetlight barely shining through the closed blinds. 

 

He seems satisfied, then, because he shifts, getting up onto his knees and shoving right between Nathan’s legs.

 

It isn’t until Jefferson pulls his dick out and starts rolling on a condom that Nathan starts to panic again, and tries to kick out again. He can’t get him, because of where Jefferson is seated between his legs, but he tries and  _ tries _ , as hard as he can, and then tries to scoot up the bed.

 

But by then, Jefferson has the condom on, and he grunts, grabbing the back of Nathan’s thighs and shoving them up to his chest. “Be still, what are you doing? Calm down.”

 

“Please don't. Please don't please don't  _ please _ .” 

 

Jefferson just hushes him again. God he's so fucking tired of that already. He can't tell if Jefferson honestly thinks he's comforting him, or if he just doesn't want Nathan to wake his parents up.

 

Not that it would matter. They don't care. Hell, Sean had  _ been _ here, he would probably have a beer with Jefferson and they'd have a nice fucking chat about touching him and sticking their dicks where Nathan never wanted them. 

 

His whole attitude has changed in an instant. He's so fucking pissed off, he can feel his blood boiling. This can't happen again, it  _ can't _ , he  _ has _ to fight it. And Jefferson is leaning over him just enough, so Nathan takes the chance and slams his fist into Jefferson's cheek.

 

Jefferson's face jerks back with the impact, and Nathan is so  _ satisfied _ with the surprised, pained sound he makes.

 

His satisfaction doesn't last, because Jefferson doesn't let up anyway, he's still shoving Nathan's knees up to his chest, and Nathan can't get enough purchase to  _ move _ , and then, oh, thank god, Jefferson's hand is moving, Nathan can somehow get up, he can,  _ he has to _ \--

 

Then Jefferson's hand connects with his cheek,  _ hard, _ the sound of impact filling the room, and Nathan cries out. Stops moving, and he knows he's lost now, because tears are welling up in his eyes and spilling down his cheeks. 

 

“You stupid fucking  _ cunt _ . Stay still, you insolent brat.”

 

“No, no no no, please,  _ please don't _ ,” Nathan begs, even as Jefferson is spitting in his hand and spreading the saliva onto his dick. He's trying so hard to squirm away, he's trying, and begging, and crying so hard he can barely see through the tears.

 

“Shut the fuck up. Stay  _ still _ , you little bitch.” 

 

And then Jefferson pushes right in, and Nathan bites his lip hard to muffle a scream. There’s no point in waking his parents up, they don't care, might as well stay quiet. 

 

It hurts, christ, it hurts so bad, with nothing but spit and half-assed preparation, and Nathan is wailing, even though he's trying to keep his voice down.

 

Jefferson slaps his hand over Nathan's mouth. “Shut the  _ fuck up! _ ” 

 

Nathan tries to toss his head, tries to get Jefferson's hand off because he hates it there. Tries to pull at Jefferson's wrist with both hands, and gets absolutely nowhere. He's too small and weak.

 

So he just relaxes. He's still sobbing, but he just puts his hands down by his sides and stops moving. He's kind of exhausted, really, and it's useless to fight.

 

He gives up. He averts his eyes, looking anywhere but Jefferson's face, and just lays there. He tries to let his thoughts wander, tries to space out. That's how he dealt with it before, that's his only comfort, so it's what he does. 

 

He closes his eyes and tries not to pay attention to the burn in his ass. Tries instead to think about the documentary he watched last week about whales, thinks about the sounds they make, those deep calls that Nathan could listen to forever. He considers getting a noise maker, or a CD, or downloading something with their noises to his iPod, so he can listen to them while he sleeps.

 

But that doesn't last too long, because Jefferson's voice is cutting through his thoughts.

 

“This is so much better, you're so gorgeous when you behave. Oh… look at you, you're such a pretty thing.”

 

Nathan hates him. And he hates that voice now. He keeps his eyes shut, doesn't say a word, and just waits. Tries to think about the next Vortex party, or  _ anything _ other than the present. He pleads to whatever might be listening that this is over soon.

 

But nobody is ever listening. At least, not to him.

 

Finally, he at least manages to zone out. Which is good, because it means he doesn't have to think about what's happening. He doesn't know how long he stays like that, staring at his blinds with a blank expression, but it's thankfully long enough that the next thing he's aware of is Jefferson pulling out. 

 

And Jefferson doesn't even pretend he's sorry. He just pets Nathan on the stomach. “Oh, Nathan, you were so good and tight. How's a slut like you manage to stay that tight? Such a good boy. Christ, you really are something.” 

 

Nathan doesn't answer. Just looks over at him, feeling empty and exhausted. 

 

“Well, I should get to bed. Thanks for that. Goodnight, Nathan.” And then Jefferson tosses his used condom in Nathan's trash, and pulls his pants up, and just leaves the room. 

 

Nathan hates that he's still hard. He hates the automatic response, physically, to that kind of stimulation. He hates it so much he could puke. And he tries his best to ignore it, and just maneuvers his way under the covers, turns on his side, and cries some more.

  
  


\---------

  
  


When Nathan gets up the next morning, he's sore. He's trying his best to walk normally, but there's a slight hitch to his step that makes it obvious something is wrong. 

 

He hopes like hell Jefferson is gone.

 

But the bastard is in the kitchen when Nathan goes in for coffee, leaning against the counter.

 

“Good morning, Nathan.”

 

Jefferson is the only one there. For once, Nathan wishes his parents were around, to give him someone else to try to talk to. “Hi.” 

 

Jefferson frowns then, and tilts his head. “Hey, Nathan?”

 

Nathan doesn't have the energy to sound cold. “What?” His voice is flat instead. 

 

Jefferson sighs and pushes away from the counter. “I was thinking last night. I think I may have misjudged your signals.”

 

How fucking fake. There was no  _ misjudging _ pleas to stop. “Yeah.” 

 

Jefferson reaches out to touch him, puts his hand on Nathan's shoulder, and Nathan just about jumps out of his skin. “I'm sorry, Nathan. I don't really know what I'm doing when I'm that drunk. I swear. I'd never hurt you on purpose.”

 

Nathan is quiet for a long time. He's considering, just how much Jefferson has done for him. How much unconditional love Jefferson has given him so far, even though he's a fuckup and a drug addict and a shitty photographer. 

 

Maybe Jefferson is being honest. Maybe he just thought… that they were role playing? People do that, right? Pretend to not want it when they do? 

 

Maybe that's the truth. Jefferson has never hurt Nathan before. Only this time, when he was drunk and Nathan had apparently been giving him  _ signals _ . So, really, Nathan is wondering now if it's his fault. Did he  _ seduce _ Jefferson? Maybe that was it. 

 

That had to be it. Right? Jefferson wouldn't hurt him on purpose. 

 

“You're really sorry?” Nathan asks, voice quiet and almost timid, such a stark contrast to the angry persona he puts on when he's in public. 

 

Jefferson takes a step closer and puts his hand on Nathan's head, runs his fingers through his hair. “I really am. I never meant to hurt you, I'm sorry if I did. I thought we had a connection. A deeper one; I thought that was what you wanted.” 

 

Nathan doesn't respond. He just stays quiet, thinking. That had to be true, right? Nathan had been giving him signs or… something, that he'd wanted it. That's what Jefferson had said. So it was his fault. It was his fault, and he should keep his flirtatiousness in check. Jefferson probably thought he had just been playing hard to get. 

 

“Nathan? Will you forgive me, please?”

 

Why shouldn't he, right? If it was Nathan's fault. Nathan figures he brought it upon himself. That's the only explanation that makes any sense, since Jefferson had never hurt him before. So he believes Jefferson's reasoning, and nods. “Okay… Yeah. I forgive you.”

 

And Nathan still believes him, over a year later, when it's happened again and again. Nathan is always convinced it's his fault. He's just too  _ irresistible _ , and he  _ gives off too many signals _ and  _ do you have any idea what a pretty boy like you does to a man? _

  
It has to be his fault. It's always his fault. He knows it  _ must _ be, because Jefferson says it is, Jefferson  _ always _ says it is. And Nathan always believes him, because he's still the only person Nathan trusts. 


End file.
